Doubt�s residue clings to the heart
Like years of smoke stains on white lace curtains.
To trust becomes incomprehensible and arduous.
How do I sweep from mind
Scraps of broken promises, and shattered dreams?
Fragmented sections from the mirror
Of life, lie scattered across the floor of my head . . .
Pick up the pieces before I cut myself,
As I walk through my thoughts
On my way to wondering why.
Those pieces, re-assembled,
Become a carnival fun-house mirror
Distorting my image.
Moving judiciously, to view myself from all angles,
I question the answer.
What revelation would satisfy me?
The why is always present, past, and future.
I pay infinitely, for every wrong choice �
Mine . . . and theirs.
The domino effect spills over into love�s games.
I can almost hear the squeaky eraser,
Scrubbing across life�s chalkboard
Until realization covers my regret . . .
Clean slates are only found in grade school.
Copyright �1995 by January Grey. All rights reserved.
January�s biography page